Page 74 of Never Too Late
‘No, I don’t think so. Art, like fashion, books, any creative pursuit is entirely subjective. We like what we like.’
‘That is true. And what is it you like, my dear?’
‘Honestly? I’m not even sure I know any more.’
‘Then,’ she said, ‘we must do something about that.’
By the end of the evening, Reine and I were firm friends and I had had one of the most interesting conversations of my life. Reine’s tales of her time in the atelier of one of the world’s most recognised couture houses had me asking question after question, apologising each time for doing so. That was until Reine told me that if I apologised one more time, she wasn’t going to say another word. That did the trick.
‘Never apologise for being interested in someone, my dear,’ she said, her accent a heady mix of her native Provence and the place she had called home now for many decades – Paris. ‘It is what everyone wishes for, even if they profess differently.’
‘I suppose that is true.’
‘There’s no “suppose” about it. I grew up very poor and was lucky enough to be taught a skill which I used to get myself a life that I wouldn’t have had without it. Not to mention that without that skill, I wouldn’t have met the love of my life. Nearly sixty years ago, I was walking down the aisle in a Christian Dior dress that I’d helped create. Had anyone told that little girl in the tiny village in Provence that one day, she would be doing so, she’d have run to her mother and asked her to make the strange person telling tales to go away! And yet I did and here I am now. Privileged enough to meet people like you and Tomas and Gabrielle. Life has been good enough to afford me that.
‘But I knew what I wanted, and that helped. I knew I wanted to leave the confines of the village. The glossy magazines I managed to get hold of second or third hand showed me there was so much more out there to see. I set my heart on Paris without ever seeing it. And I was determined to work in one of the best ateliers in Paris. I’d have accepted Chanel at a push.’ She wrinkled her nose a little and I laughed at the thought of Reine turning up nose up at Coco Chanel and what the lady herself might have thought of that.
‘I’d always loved Dior. So beautiful. So feminine. Just perfection in style and design, and of course, workmanship.’ She winked at me and for a moment, I got a glance of the young woman that she had been, marching into that famous address on Avenue Montaigne and advising them to take her on.
‘I was a pushy littlevache, now I look back on it,’ she said, amusement in her voice. ‘But the world is a tough place. Some people get things handed on a plate. Others don’t and those are the ones who need to work the hardest, but they’re also the ones, like me, that can be the proudest of themselves.’ She took my hand and put it to my chest. ‘Remember what it was you wanted when you first came to Paris and then decide, in here,’ she indicated where my hand lay over my heart, ‘if it’s still the same thing.’
‘Oh, Reine, I’m far too old to follow those dreams now.’
She tutted at me. ‘Rubbish. One is never too old, merely too timid.’
‘Wow!’ I said, surprise mixing with my laughter.
These women were brutal tonight – but that didn’t mean they were wrong.
28
I was waiting outside the restaurant, happily people-watching, when a sleek, black car pulled up to the kerb. The late-April sunshine glinted off its black paintwork. After a moment, a uniformed man with at least twenty years on me exited from the driver’s seat and turned sedately to the back door, which he proceeded to open. From the dark interior, Reine emerged like the queen her name suggested, the chauffeur extending his arm for steadying assistance as she did so. Her right hand, beringed with diamonds that flashed in the late-winter sun, lay lightly on his arm until she was out of the car. A few words were exchanged, the man nodded, Reine smiled and he turned back towards the driver’s door. I took a few steps towards the road and Reine noticed, her hand lifted in a wave as the smile broke on her face. I quickened my pace.
‘Kitty, darling.’ She stopped and kissed both cheeks. ‘How are you? I do hope you haven’t been waiting too long?’
‘No, not at all. I’ve been enjoying watching the world go by anyway.’
‘An excellent pursuit. Gabby is not here yet?’
‘No, she’s running a few minutes late but said she should be here soon.’
‘Ah,bon. Let’s go inside and wait in the warm. Have you been here before?’
‘No. This sort of place was rather out of my budget when I was here as a student! I remember seeing it back then though and watching all the glamorous people come and go. There used to be a café over there,’ I pointed across the street, ‘and I’d sit in there and study and people-watch.’ The café had gone now, replaced by a vape shop. ‘So much has changed since I was here years ago.’
‘And yet so much is the same.’
‘Exactement!’ I said, laughing.
‘Come on, let’s go and get some lunch. I’m famished.’
Inside, the décor was as opulent as I’d imagined it to be when I’d watched those patrons disappear inside from my position in the slightly shabby café opposite decades ago. But it also felt understated. Expensive but without that air of intimidation some establishments seem to enjoy cultivating.
‘Reine! Kitty!’ Gabby’s voice called across the marble atrium as she rushed in through the door, nodding a wide smile at the doorman as she did so then hurrying over and embracing us both. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. I was talking to Ashok on a video call and neither of us wanted to hang up.’ She put a hand to her face. ‘I feel like I am a teenager again.’ She put a hand to her cheek, laughing.
‘From what I’ve heard, it’s mutual.’ Whenever I spoke to Ashok, a good proportion of the conversation was him gushing about Gabby. And I couldn’t have been happier.
‘I hope so,’ my friend returned, a flash of insecurity dulling the sparkle in her eyes for the briefest moment.
